Days 32, 33 and 34

On Friday I had a busy day so got up and set off at 7.15am. It was still dark as I rounded the end of our street, and in the shadows I saw a dark figure looming, a terrifying shape lurking in the darkness... a fox! Not just any fox though, an urban fox - the fierce street wise cousin of the sweet gentle fluffy orange country fox. This fox was lankey and rangey, with dull brown fur and a steely look in his eye. I stopped mid stomp, a few feet away from him. He looked at me, I looked at him. He tensed and I flinched, ready to run from an attack, but he must have been more scared of me than I was of him and after an intense couple of seconds he darted off and disappeared into someones garden. My mysterious headache was persisting so I was grateful to have the streets to myself, no chattering chimp children or cold commuters careering around or cars kicking up a fuss in my way. Hearing the thud thud thud of every step echoing in my head I plodded round resolutely but uncomfortably. My will for it all to be over spurred me on and I completed my painfull efforts in 44 minutes.
Friday night I went to Kings Lynn for the Saturday, and in preparation for that I had packed all my walking equipment. Saturday morning rolled around and I pulled on all my clothes, which is when I realised I'd forgotten my trainers. Undeterred even with this pesky headache still hanging around I decided to give it a try in my pumps, and so set off (looking utterly ridiculous in leggings fluffy socks hoody and ballet pumps) on my Kings Lynn route - to the Retreat and back you'll recall from earlier blogs. So instead of stompt-stomp-stomp I was more in the pattern of step-shuffle-shoe falls off-step-shuffle-shoe falls off, but still maintaining a decent pace. About a mile in I tripped and scuffed my shoe, only to see my toe appear through the front of my shoe. I stopped to examine the extent of the damage, and as I wriggled my foot a few more toes burst through the flimsy material. Deterred now, having completed 1 mile in 16 minutes in a bizarre fashion, I turned round and limped back to Martys.
Today my head was beginning to do my head in by continuing to hurt, but I still went to our rugby match. The good news is we won 71 - 5, the bad news being that I ended up zooming to hospital after the match in an ambulance, going on to be diagnosed with concussion, and told I'll need to lay off the rugby for at least a week, and to take it easy on all excersise. Therefore I'll declare tomorrow a rest day in advance, though it may have to turn into a rest week... Damn you stupid head, I have walking to do!

Days 30 and 31

Yesterday we won again (this is getting to be something of a habit) 20 - nil, and I believe I did sufficient running around scrumming an jumping on people (as is the nature of rugby) to equal something close to the nature of a 4 mile walk.
True to my word in my earlier blog I kept my drinking to a minimum last night and was up and about reasonably early (by which I mean 10.30) after seeing one hungover housemate off to work and with the other asleep in bed I set off. Today I have a headache, which is bizarre considering how little I drank last night, and so although there were very few children chavs or commuters blocking my circuit I still suffered with every step. I maintained my time of 45 minutes though so can only assume no real harm has been done, and now am off for a lie down. More tomorrow.

Day 29

Disaster has struck! I hope shin sprains or whatever has been ailing Dad aren't hereditary, as I've been struck down with twinges in the older lower leg (left) today. I've decided to call an emergency rest day today as I have a rugby match tomorrow, and I promise I'll make it up by not having my usual rest(/hangover) day on Thursday. Dads working today too so today is something of a failure for the fight, unless you count the stellar performance that Eddie is bound to put in (which I don't) So I won't be posting tomorrow but hopefully I'll have some success to report Thursday, unless I have to have my leg amputated, which at the moment it feels like I may have to...

Days 27 and 28

Good news; you'll all be pleased to know that Dad recovered from the many mojitos! However he's had another bout of shin strangles so completed his most recent 4 miles in 1 hour and 20 minutes, good try Dad, he is 51 you know!
Yesterday we won our rugby match 105 - nil, so I allowed myself a day off walking in celebration. So today with the pain of day-after-rugby (and day-after-day-after-6-mile-walk) I was ready to get back to my London route. Today has been a bit of a mad dash, following a morning of uni I rushed back to the Isle of Dogs to fit in a quick lap before I go to rugby training tonight (so apologies for this rushed entry) The more astute amongst you will recognise the fact that setting ofv at this time places me in the realm of double buggied doom, but luckily I was late enough that the majority of little darlings had been collected, and I could dodge the stragglers> Short on time as I knew I was, I still managed to fit in a quick pose on our doorstep with my Lucozade, for the benefit of our neighbour (who expressed no interest whatsoever but thats not the point) Ever the athlete I decided to take aforementioned Lucozade with me, to sip actively as I've seen real people partaking in real excersise do. Fairly soon it became apparent to me that the bottle was weighing me down though, and as I huffed and puffed along, glugging from it like it was some sort of magic walking potion. I finally accepted that it was more of a hinderance than a help and jettisoned it into a bin. On my mad dash this afternoon then I did dash indeed, returning home (thank god the neighbour wasn't around to see the state of me then!) in 43 minutes, my personal London best. Maybe I should keep myself under time pressure in future, or maybe that will just give me a heart attack; I of all people know that excersise should be approached with caution.
I almost forgot Eddie, he and Dad tackled Roseberry Topping yesterday with modest success I'm told, and with regards to walking, hes probably ready to represent Britain foe power walking in the Olypmics by now> There's still time for me to shove him off a mountain...

Day 26

Wanting to make the most of my time in the countryside (I'm heading back to London this afternoon) I thought I'd try a six mile walk on for size; or in this case speed, and stamina. If Dad can do them then so can I. Dad had indulged himself with 2 mojitos last night, because he's fruity like that, and so was not in much condition to move anywhere, and by 10.45 Ed was still in bed, so I collected the dog's lead again, deciding to give him one last chance, and thinking that I might need him to pull me home a few miles in, and set off.
Today I was more focussed than ever before, pushing myself to the max. Brian and Steves 4 mile an hour pace dictated that it should take me and hour and a half to complete this, and knowing that Dad had produced such times as 93 minutes, my competitive juices were flowing. As I was leaving Mam had advised an extra fleece, describing the weather as "quite windy". It was indeed quite windy, and I appreciated the extra layer... for about the first 5 minutes, after which I quickly became too hot, and began relying on that quite windy wind to blow the sweat off my extra sweaty face (attractive I know, but if you're not used to this sort of mental imagery by now you're reading the wrong blog darlings). I kept my head down and marched. At the 2 mile normal turnaround point the dog hesitated, I could see his little doggy mind processing my movements as I trundled on, like a long haul lorry "Has she gotten confused, this is where we go home!" he wimpered but trotted dutifully after me. Turning round a mile later having conquered new territory I was jubilant, that wasn't so bad! Homewards I strode feeling chipper, until I completed the fourth mile. At this point my body expected to collapse on the sofa, but we were still 2 miles shy of home. The only way I can describe that fifth mile is hell. Absolute hell. Reaching the marker that told me I was only a mile from home now though I got some sort of second wind; the dog was trudging at this point and far from him assisting me, the Rudolph to my Santa of walking that I had imagined, it was me dragging him back over the threshold of home. 1 hour 24 minutes. Thats 84 minutes, 9 minutes faster than Dad and 6 minutes faster than the great Brian and Steve! However there's a chance I'll never walk again; which bodes well for my rugby match tomorrow; I'll let you know how that goes, and if Dad ever recovers from the mojitos....

Days 23, 24 and 25

After 3 days I'm sure you're all biting your nails in apprehension, but never fear I'm still here! On Wednesday we won our match 68 - nil so I consider that good excersise, and yesterday I'm afraid after some rough scrumming the day before (ok ok and some heavy drinking the night before) I wasn't much good for anything, so there was a rest day (thankyou Brian and Steve for inventing those!)
Today I'm back up north for Mams birthday - happy birthday mam - and so this morning she had a delightful birthday early morning with cards and a cup of coffee thrown at her before Dad went to work and I leashed up the dog for my walk. When I laced up my walking boots it felt like years rather than weeks since I'd last worn them and they were heavy! I quickly forgot any feelings of fond nostalgia I'd had for the dog too as he hauled me along. When I first started walking in London I commented how much easier it all is on pavement, and so the reverse was true once I got back into open country; boots weighing me down like I had 2 blocks of lead strapped to my feet, and the inclines making my legs burn, I was transported back to my first attempts at the effort. But al least I was back in the countryside; no children pointing and laughing, birds singing, no traffic... what on earth was that noise?! It was a van, and not just 1 van in fact but 2. 2 vans, on the walkway; WALK way, not VAN way, yet there they were, blocking my path. Durham County Council, what was going through your heads when you dispatched these vans to block my route? I'm struggling enough without you making it worse! "Morning" van driver 1 had the audacity to call as I stomped past, if looks could kill the 1 he got back from me would have had him 6 feet under, and he retreated behind his van to get on with whatever he was doing. I would have been terrified too if I was him I suppose, innocently getting on with my job (ridiculous and inconveniently located as it was) to then be borne down on by an angry huffing puffing tomato woman. Vans aside however I found that I did enjoy the country air, and became re-accustomed to the boots (and to the dog being an idiot, and the hills...) and got home in 59 minutes, so I'm happy still, and London hasn't done me too much harm.

Day 22

Today after a morning of uni I undertook my first lunchtime London walk, setting off at 1pm, with sun shining, birds singing, and mercifully all the delightful little children at school (although walking past playgrounds full of kids on their dinner break is like walking past the monkey house at a zoo) The streets were empty and I felt like I owned the Isle of Dogs, until the offices of Canary Wharf opened for lunch and the commuters I had scooted past days before came pouring out. I was battling the tide of sark suits and my momentum dropped, however luckily they all trickled off into pret-a-mangers and starbucks quickly enough and the streets were mine again. To the tune of monkeys chattering, sorry I mean children playing, I stomped on. If this was a chick-lit novel (which will obviously become a best seller after the blockbuster starring Scarlett Johanssen/Jo Brand as me, following the failure of the proposal of the Madam Tomato childrens TV series) by now, three weeks in, I'd have discovered my inner love for walking (and probably have been getting the eye from some chiselled but shy male jogger that I pass every day but niether of us have the courage - or in my case the puff - to speak to each other, until one day I trip and he catches me, and we gaze into each others eyes and the rest is history... but I'm getting off topic) Anyway, after three weeks, I should have discovered my inner love for walking and every step should be like dancing over clouds. It's not like that. I suspect it never will be like that. I haven't magically dropped to a size 8 and there are no Orlando Bloom look alikes making eye contact with me as we pound the pavement together, but it is all getting a bit easier. I completed my efforts in 45 minutes again today so everything is progressing smoothly.
Dads training had been sporadic but successful in my absence in its own way, he veers from 4 miles in an hour to a couple of days of with the occasional 6 miler thrown in. Today was 6 miles in an hour and a half, so a good show by the old duffer (he is 51 you know!) I'm sure Ed is sprinting round South Sheilds faster than cars nowadays (smug long legged giant git) so everyones doing well.
Now I'm off to Waitrose for some quaills eggs for me Mam, because they have right posh stuff in that London the likes of which we up north can barely comprehend. Got a rugby match tomorrow so this is a bit of cliffhanger until Thursday for a double bill on our endevours, so look forward to that.